


He Belongs To Me

by islandgirl_246



Series: Just You and Me [6]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Actor Stiles Stilinski, Angst, BAMF Erica, Hurt Stiles, Lawyer Peter Hale, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-25
Updated: 2017-06-25
Packaged: 2018-11-19 02:15:01
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,014
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11303646
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/islandgirl_246/pseuds/islandgirl_246
Summary: “Fire and gasoline, huh? If that’s what we are, how about lighting my fire, right now?” He leaned forward eyelids lowered; nose running up Peter’s cheek, lips edging toward his ear lobe, talk of the Gala momentarily sidelined.“I’d prefer if you lit mine,” Peter said, reaching blindly into the nearby drawer to pull out a condom and lube. He slipped the condom between his teeth, leaning his head back to transfer the packaged protection to Stiles, who caught the item between his lips. The lube Peter snapped open with a loud smack in the quiet bedroom.He felt Stiles getting hard in his lap and smiled. He would have plenty of time later to worry about the fact that before Stiles came along, this gala was traditionally where he picked up his new lovers.





	He Belongs To Me

**Author's Note:**

> I was kinda blown away by the response to the previous update in this series, like wow. The comments were . . . just wow. I wish I could adequately explain what comments, even apart from kudos, do for a writer’s confidence. Just thank you.
> 
> I won’t say anything about this update, except prepare yourselves.

“Hey, umm, Peter?” Despite the comfort of his nakedness, the voice was hesitant as it called his name.

“Yes, Stiles?” The amusement was rife in his tone as he ran an absent finger along Stiles’ spinal column as he continued to proof the briefing document, feet extended across the silken sheets, ankles crossed at the end. He loved the fact that his marks were all over that pale skin, even if Stiles complained he looked like he’d been mauled by a wolf.

Stiles shifted from his naked front onto his side, penis flopping to one direction as he temporarily dislodging Peter’s fingers, which resituated against his side. Peter finally lifted his gaze from his papers and raised a brow, waiting.

“You remember that thing you’re attending this weekend?”

“The Gala. Saturday night? Yeah,” he returned to his papers, picking up a nearby highlighter and drawing a line across something, adding a sticky note as well, as his brow began to scrunch.

“Well it turns out I’m going too.” Stiles said it quickly, like ripping off a bandaid.

Peter’s head rose slowly. So far, despite their 17-and-a-half months of doing this, and despite both of them being famous in their own right, they’d managed not to run into each other at social events. It helped that they ran in distinctly different circles. At least they had – until now.

“What do you mean, you’re ‘going’?” Peter asked cautiously, mind already considering possible mine-fields in this scenario.

“I don’t mean I’m going with you, idiot. But it seems the Congressman wants to make a big deal about the fact that my foundation is funding research in the new cardiovascular wing at the hospital. So he’s extended an invitation to the Gala; one that has been accepted.” Stiles paused for reaction. There was sure to be one.

“What . . . What Foundation? You have a Foundation?”

Stiles sat up, allowing his annoyance to show. “Is this your attempt at prevarication or do you honestly not hear anything I say to you about my charity?” he pouted.

Peter glared down at his papers again, but didn’t answer.

“I just wanted to, you know, cover the bases in case we ran into each other, which is likely to happen.”

“Well, thank you. Consider your bases covered.” But Peter’s mind was still running through the possible pitfalls to this.

“You’re thinking about how many ways you can avoid me the entire night, aren’t you?” Stiles tried not the let the hurt shake his voice. _He was an actor dammit. Nerves of steel. Nerves of steel._ He swallowed and turned back onto his stomach and pillowed his chin on his crossed arms. _Why did the thought of Peter not wanting him there leave him a little wounded?_

Peter exhaled gradually and lowered the papers, brows knitted. “It’s not so much that I want to avoid you, as it is that I’m thinking about how we get through the evening without the papers running a headline story next morning that says, ‘Famous Actor Caught with Pants Down’. Let’s face it, Stiles, either one of us in a tux is likely to be the equivalent of tossing a match at a trail of gasoline. We’ll be lucky not to be caught in any compromising positions by the end of the night.”

Stiles smiled slowly. _He could do this. He could pretend he believed this was the only reason for Peter’s hesitation._ He turned his head towards Peter. Their eyes met and held. Stiles languidly rose to his knees and just as seductively climbed into Peter’s lap. He plucked the glasses from the bridge of the man’s nose, papers and highlighter tossed onto the side table. “Fire and gasoline, huh? If that’s what we are, how about lighting my fire, right now?” He leaned forward eyelids lowered; nose running up Peter’s cheek, lips edging toward his ear lobe, talk of the Gala momentarily sidelined.

“I’d prefer if you lit mine,” Peter said, reaching blindly into the nearby drawer to pull out a condom and lube. He slipped the condom between his teeth, leaning his head back to transfer the packaged protection to Stiles, who caught the item between his lips. The lube, Peter snapped open with a loud smack in the quiet bedroom.

He felt Stiles getting hard in his lap and smiled. He would have plenty of time later to worry about the fact that before Stiles came along, this gala was traditionally where he picked up his new lovers.

++++++

Hale & Hale had been supporting the city’s largest fundraising gala for years. Even before Talia’s death, the law firm traditionally reserved a table. Apart from state funds, the Gala was a who’s who of Boston. It was where the wealthy usually came out to smooze and toss their millions around – and be seen doing it.

When Hale & Hale had been Talia and Peter Hale, Talia had seen it as a way to give back to charity and also to reward staff who’d performed exceptionally. Apart from the firm’s senior staff, whom all attended on the company’s dime, they always selected at least two junior staff and rewarded them with tickets to sit at the table. For those lucky juniors, it was an announcement to the firm and the city at large that they were on their way up. Hale & Hale was one of the more successful and respected firms in the city. This was good PR and good corporate social responsibility.

Peter personally didn’t much care either way. Talia had been the bleeding heart in the partnership, and Laura picked up where her mother had left off. Peter was just here for the hot men and women, one of whom ended up in his bed each year. It was a standing announcement to all – on that night each year, he always attended alone, and very, very single.

Peter threw the pen across his desk and growled at it. He couldn’t concentrate for shit and this only made it worse. The invoice stared him in the face, the blank space requiring his signature seemed to wink at him and dare him to sign on the dotted line.

Erica walked in. “Laura says you need to make your choice by the end of the day. These are the top five candidates from the pool. She needs your top two choices, but she says she doesn’t think you will need to meet on it since she’s sure you both agree on the two candidates this year.” Erica’s head was down sifting through notes in her hand.

“Marcus called, said he hasn’t received your confirmation?” Erica looked at him with a frown. “I gave you the invoice last week. I thought you’d confirm it through Renee when I was out those two days.” She sighed like it was a hardship, like he couldn’t do anything right without her. “Ok, give it to me, I’ll send it off. Do you require any adjustments to his proposal for the suit?” Her eyes finally met Peter’s and she immediately stilled. “Peter?”

Her eyes moved from his down to the sheet sitting in front of him; the _unsigned_ sheet in front of him, before her gaze moved back to his face in alarm. Peter hadn’t signed the order?

“Is there something wrong with the design, the fabrics, inlays? What?” Erica was worried. Marcus and Peter were like a well-oiled machine when it came to fashion. They were always on the same page about what Peter wore to the Gala each year. No one else, despite numerous attempts of others to steal his business away, had ever designed Peter’s suit for the Gala.

“No.” He growled at Erica, whose brain began working at sussing out what could possibly be wrong to put Peter in this mood. He was always smooth this time of year. Smoother than normal, like Casanova himself would have trouble being his suave. This Peter wasn’t her usual Peter. She waited.

“Stiles is going.” He brushed a rough hand over his face as he pushed himself to his feet and stalked away from the invoice like it had personally offended him.

Erica stared, not sure where to begin. “Going? As in you two together?”

Peter swung with aggression, “Of course not! He’s attending as a guest of Congressman Aimes.” He returned his gaze to the late afternoon Boston traffic. “His Foundation is being recognised for the work it has done, is doing, something like that.”

“But he’s going? He’s going to be there?”

“That’s what I just said, isn’t it?” Peter said testily. But Erica didn’t take offence. She understood the conundrum here and what a shit storm it could turn into by the end of the night. Stiles was attending the event that Peter annually treated like a smorgasbord from the reality show The Bachelor.

Shit was about to get real.

“Do you want me to make excuses for your absence?” she said quietly.

“I can’t not go; that would only make things worse.”

“But you can’t go and leave with a date for the night, and if you don’t the speculation alone, Peter . . .”

He sighed, one of the ones she now realised she hadn’t heard in a long while. He walked over to his desk, picked up the pen and scratched his signature, handing the form to Erica. “Tell him the dark blue, and make an appointment with the salon for Friday evening.” He sighed again. “And Erica, this stays between us.”

She met his eyes seriously. “Of course, Peter.” She cringed a bit that he’d felt that he had to say it. _Was his confidence in her ability to keep confidences waning?_ It had been a bit strange since the bracelet incident. He certainly didn’t talk about his sex life anymore, but she’d assumed it was because, well he was only seeing one person and not the conveyor belt he had before. Ok, so maybe she had some work to do herself to reassure Peter of her loyalty to him.

So she left to do her boss’ bidding.

After a few more moments lost in his thoughts, Peter sat down to review the junior files. Laura was right, he already had an idea of the two he would choose and was sure it was the same two Laura was considering. Usually after this event the chosen two got a boost in salary and were put on the track for promotion within a year if they continued to perform and impress.

Peter exhaled. He had work to do. He’d worry about Stiles and how the younger man was slowly but surely altering aspects of his previously carefree lifestyle later.

++++++

“So we’ve finalised the funding and everything is copacetic?” Stiles asked, glancing up at Allison and Jordan. “I don’t want what happened with the Doleman disbursal repeated. This money goes where it’s supposed to or I will raise hell this time,” Stiles stressed, scrawling his name across the documents in the indicated areas.

“I promise you, Mr. Stilinski, this money will do what we say it will do. The accounts will be audited and you will receive regular statements about progress with research. You can even tour if you need to,” the doctor said. She was almost vibrating with eagerness to please.

Stiles didn’t want anyone pleasing him, he just wanted to know the money was being used for the heart research as agreed. He was so far pleased with the first amount they had funnelled into the hospital, and this second tranche he was hoping would boost what had already been done. If the Congressman kept his word, some of the moneys raised at the Gala would also supplement his Foundation’s investment and so many other areas as well.

In half-hour all the documents that should be signed were and the medical team and researchers left with their copy, profusely thanking Stiles over and over for committing more money to push them further.

His impulsive support of Annalise Benedict and her medical situation had renewed his conviction to push more money into research. Sure the Foundation had previously given money, but he’d started to pay more attention after that case. It was how he’d found out they were running out of money and were about to lose one of their key researchers. He’d started to pay more attention then.

“So, the Gala,” Allison said, a grin on her face. “Decided who your plus one is going to be yet?”

“There’s no plus one. I’m going solo,” Stiles sat back, stretching out in the chair and crossing his legs at the ankles and closing his eyes.

“What do you mean solo? I thought the Congressman’s people said the invitation was for you and a guest?” Ali looked puzzled.

“It is, but I’m not taking anyone. Peter’s going.”

She frowned. “Wait, so you’re going together?”

“No, we’re not going together, but he’s going to be there. I can’t show up with a date if Peter’s going to be there. That would be insensitive.” He peeked through half-closed lids at his attorneys. Jordan and Allison exchanged apprehensive glances. “I saw that.”

“Stiles, surely you’re not waiting for Peter to ask you to go with him, right?” Allison asked cautiously.

Stiles sat up. “Of course not. He’s going with his firm. I’m going to be seated at the Congressman’s table.”

There it was, that look again. “What?” he asked, bristling just a bit.

“You do know that Peter has a bit of a reputation at this thing, right?” Jordan asked.

“What’s a bit of a reputation?” Stiles returned carefully.

“Stiles, the Gala is nicknamed in some circles as Peter Hale’s Bachelor Buffet.” She paused to let that to sink in. When Stiles didn’t comment, she added, “Every year starlets, models and generally beautiful people fall all over themselves to be the one he takes home for the night. The only reason it didn’t happen last year was because he was supporting Laura through her epic episode with that architect guy and Peter decided to be her date for the night, and was true to his word. Their table was close to our firm’s. Peter practically served as her protector the whole evening, and word had it that Mr. Architect, who had the gall to foolishly bring his wife with him, lost two contracts within the space of three months post-Gala; that Peter black-balled the guy.”

“He deserved it. He was a douche for what he did. He should have told Laura he was married. If you’re asking me he got off easy. Peter only let up because Laura asked him to.” Stiles said scathingly. He could be every bit as bloodthirsty as Peter when those he cared about were threatened or hurt.

“My point is, Stiles, everyone is expecting Peter back in full form this weekend. I don’t want you to get your hopes up about what’s going to happen. Besides, some of his exes will be there too, always looking for a new way in.”

“Well, at least we all know that to date he hasn’t dipped in the same pond twice,” Jordan added, jaws slowly unclenching after the tale about Laura and the architect. Allison had told him over and over he was a fool not to follow up on Laura’s evident interest in him when they’d first met. Within weeks after, he’d heard that she’d started dating someone, and his opportunity had passed.

Stiles leaned back again closing his eyes, schooling his face into his no-emotions mask. The last thing he wanted was for Allison to see how her words impacted him. That would only lead to some new intervention by the gang and he didn’t want to discuss this with his friends. An ‘I told you so’ from Scott would skewer him and they were still working on smoothing out the awkwardness between them. It was slow going, but at least his buddy hadn’t completely pulled away. He still hoped they could rebuild and that Scott could try at least to get along with Peter if they met. Stiles had actually been thinking of arranging such a get together, but not before things between him and Scott evened out.

“I don’t need Peter to babysit me,” he said lazily, purposely donning his actor’s persona and adding a bored yawn for effect. “He doesn’t owe me anything. He’s free to pick up whomever he wants for the night or whatever. He’s just the guy I screw when we’re both available.” His chest clenched at the lie. At least it was a lie for him; maybe it was the truth for Peter. _But then, what had the last few months been about?_

He’d felt something change since their weekend at the cabin had turned into five days when Peter called to tell Laura he was taking a few days off. He hadn’t told her why, but it had been unexpected and intimate for the two of them, locked away from the world. Peter had held him as he’d cried and laughed and told stories he remembered of his mom and some he’d also only learnt from his dad. Peter had also talked about losing his sister and niece. It had also been the first time that Peter had allowed Stiles to fuck him, though not the last as of late.

 _Was he really only fooling himself about what it all meant?_ They hadn’t planned for this; hadn’t discussed this.

“I just don’t want to see you hurt because you expect more from him than he intends to give,” Allison said, all mother-hen present.

“I’m fine,” Stiles stood and stretched. “And my bed is calling me. I’ll talk to you guys later. I’m ok going solo, Ali. Don’t worry so much.” He threw them both a grin and walked out the door, donning his shades as he did.

He had three days. Three days to don his armour and prepare himself for whatever the Gala would bring. He’d be fine.

++++++

It turned out to be three days of almost non-stop, marathon-like sex sessions with Peter – every night; even sometimes when the attorney could get away during the day; and definitely first thing every morning before his yoga session. And once, even during said yoga session.

What could Stiles say? Peter was hot like burning, and sitting there watching him stretch and contort those hot limbs into numerous poses had been more than Stiles could handle. He’d jumped him and Peter had given in with a peal of delighted laughter. The sound still echoed in Stiles’ head every time he thought about it.

The only thing they didn’t do was discuss the upcoming Gala. So if sex was a substitute for all the things he wanted to say but wouldn’t, he was ok, as long as Peter kept giving it to him good. Or so Stiles told himself.

++++++

Peter was packing up when Erica walked into his office. “Rebecca and James are all set with their outfits for tomorrow night. Don’t worry, they won’t embarrass Hale & Hale, and I will keep them in line.”

Erica always attended the gala. From the very first it had been a non-question with Peter. Laura just rolled with it and so far it had been a blessing. Erica had an eye for difficult situations and would spend the night running interference, if Peter needed to extricate himself from an ex or a clingy sexual hopeful, and also if the newbies needed saving because some asshole decided to test their right to be at the Gala. Erica had been known to verbally flay an idiot or two over the years. Sometimes it was the most entertainment Peter would get all night outside of his luring a new partner to his bed.

“You ok?” she asked quietly.

“Yeah.”

“You’ve had a busy week,” she observed, raising brows at him. “I’m guessing you didn’t talk to him about this?”

‘There’s nothing to talk about, Erica.” Peter zipped his bag closed and hefted it off his desk, looking around to make sure he wasn’t leaving anything necessary behind.

“Peter,” she twitched uncomfortably for a moment, an uncharacteristic emotion for Erica. “Look, I know I screwed up with the bracelet thing. You were right, it should have been your call and getting Laura involved was wrong. I accept that and know it might have shaken your confidence in me and where my loyalty is to you, but I hope you know I will always have your back.”

Peter stared at her for a second, caught off-guard by the sudden soul-baring. “You can talk to me, Peter, and know it will stay between us. That goes without saying. Laura might be my friend and your niece, but my loyalty where you are concerned is the same as it always has been.”

Peter nodded after the silence lasted for a while. “It’s not going to be an easy evening but Stiles and I are both adults and we know what this is. We’ve both always known what it is. There are no expectations on either end. Besides, his invitation is a plus one. I don’t expect him to be alone.” The last was said with Peter avoiding her gaze.

“Maybe you shouldn’t give him that option.”

“Erica.”

“Ok, ok,” she raised hands in surrender. “Your call. I’ll keep an eye open, but you should know, I sweet talked my way into getting a copy of the guest list. Stiles is going solo,” she grinned at her boss, before she added, “but . . . Simone is going to be there.” Peter groaned. “And she’s not the only one.”

Peter looked at her. She nodded before she said, “Sebastian Moran is back in town.”

“Fuck!” Peter swore, with considerable feeling. It was almost enough for him to claim a headache; one that would last all weekend. _Almost_.

++++++

Peter circled the converted ballroom in the Boston Convention and Exhibition Center. They had really gone all out this year to impress. Peter had seen quite a few movie stars, directors and financiers in the film world present this year, alongside the usual invitees.

Much to Laura’s delight and Peter’s chagrin, their table was within full view of the Congressman’s spot, just two tables away in fact. So rather than being obscured from views of Stiles all night, Peter had a clear unobstructed view of his current lover. _Just great!_

So he circled. Smoozing with a few clients and prospective clients who stopped him to have a word, while trying to consume his weight in alcohol. He wished it was easier for him to get drunk, but the champagne they were serving barely tickled his palate.

His eyes sought and found Erica, sticking close to the two newbies and looking stunning in red. Most women, he knew, would stick to neutral colours. Erica didn’t know the meaning of the word. It amused Peter that she refused to blend in.

“Well, well, well. If it isn’t Peter Hale.” He turned slowly to face the voice of one of the last women he wanted to run into tonight. “I thought you’d have been behind bars by now.”

“Wish I could say it was nice to see you too, Simone.” He looked the bitter woman in the face, raising a brow and giving off a very bored air, one he knew she would take exception to. Simone wasn’t one of his conquests from the Gala, but they had met there first. He’d taken her up on her obvious offers after he’d discarded the guy he had picked up at the Gala that year. He regretted that decision.

“Already scoping out for this year’s happy recipient of an STD?” she raised her voice with scorn and a few close by glanced at them in concern.

If she wanted a scene, she’d chosen the wrong man to instigate one with. Peter would happily skin her alive and leave her raking her shredded dignity from beneath his boots. Before he could reply, there was an obvious buzz throughout the room.

“Is that Stiles Stilinski?” he heard a woman nearby ask. “Oh my God, I need to get an autograph. I can’t believe they got him to come.”

“I heard Congressman Aimes had to ask personally.”

“I’m not surprised,” the woman said in a hushed whisper. “I hear he always refuses the invitation. Wonder what convinced him to come this year.” The two moved away, probably to get closer to the star and possibly convince Stiles to sign an autograph or two.

It always threw Peter for a loop how people responded to Stiles; how they always seemed to somehow be in awe of him.

Simone scoffed. He’d all but forgotten she was standing there. She cut glittering brown eyes at him. Brown eyes that paled in comparison to a whiskey pair that was right now foremost in his mind. “Try not to run him over this time, will you?” she said, breaking into thoughts that were heading into salacious territory.

“Oh grow up, Simone. We were fucking for a while, that’s it. Nothing more. I never gave you any reason to think it was anything else. So don’t come here playing the wounded party. You wanted to fuck someone famous and you did, now run along and find the next candidate, because I’m not interested in a repeat.” Peter didn’t lower his voice, why should he? She certainly hadn’t.

She went blazing red with anger. Peter felt someone shift beside him and looked to see Erica there, eyebrows raised in askance at Simone, promising retribution for anything she thought to try. Gosh, sometimes he forgot his assistant was a tigress when watching over her flock. “Fuck you, Peter Hale.” Simone choked out.

“Already did, sweetheart, and it wasn’t that memorable. Now run along to daddy. I’m sure he’s wondering where you got off to.” Peter responded and raised the champagne flute to his lips turning deliberately from her as if to engage Erica in conversation. The obvious dismissal was cutting.

Erica grinned watching as the chit stomped away. Peter could be a supreme asshole, but he was the kind of asshole few trifled with and this was why. He had no shame, and only a fool would try to shame him about sex in a room filled with hundreds of guests.

“I’m fine, love. Run on back to the juniors. I’ve got this.” Erica nodded, smiled and glided back to where Rebecca and James were looking on with wide eyes. Erica was aware not many saw this side of Peter. As feared as he was, few had really ever seen him in full form. He didn’t allow his wolfish side to come out very often, and seldom outside a courtroom. The results were always catastrophic.

++++++

Through a gap in the people suddenly thronging him, Stiles was sure he’d caught a glimpse of Peter. He was surprised at how decked out the place was, though he shouldn’t have been. He was accustomed to opulence, and this certainly was the definition of lavish. Red carpets, strobe lights into the night’s sky, the room itself was doused in purple and blue lighting; with swaths of silky material draping from the high ceilings, and were those bouquets of flowers hanging from the ceiling? Throughout the room were hundreds of standing bouquets as well.

He smiled as the Congressman introduced him to someone else. He’d donned the actor persona from the time the limo had drawn up outside the venue. He needed to maintain that distance tonight. It was purely self-interest.

Regardless of which Peter Hale he met tonight, he’d hold onto his faculties until the end of the Gala. Especially if Peter took someone home – someone not Stiles-shaped.

He didn’t realise his eyes were still scoping out the crowd for Peter until his eyes landed on him, in seeming discussion with a woman, whose shoulders were rigid in determination. As Stiles watched, Erica drew closer to Peter and the woman said something to either Peter or to them both. When Peter responded the woman drew back sharply as if the verbal volley Peter had delivered had stunned her. Stiles watched in amazement as the attorney turned his back on the woman and proceeded to discuss something with Erica.

Several people nearby glanced at the woman in pity before she flounced away with her tail obviously between her legs, and as she did, Stiles finally got a glimpse fully at her face. He knew that face. It was one of Peter’s exes. _So, it had already begun._

His eyes returned to where they had left Peter and he found the man in question staring at him. From this distance he couldn’t discern the expression in his eyes though, but Peter raised his glass absently in acknowledgement.

“Mr. Stilinski?”

Stiles shook himself back to the present and smiled at Congressman Aimes’ wife, who’d touched his arm gently to get his wavering attention. “Our table is this way.” He smiled and took her arm to escort her to the table, delving into discussion as they proceeded.

++++++

The dinner itself was scrumptious, up to usual standard. The Congressman when he addressed the gathering was his ever effusive self – thanking everyone for their donations and for supporting the event, the funds from which would support any number of causes for the remainder of this year and half of next year.

When he reached the part of the programme where he singled out Stiles, the actor blushed. It looked good on him, if Peter did say so himself. He felt himself stir in his pants. Almost immediately as Stiles arrived, the formal part of the evening had begun; so they hadn’t officially met here yet. Peter tingled at the prospect.

When Stiles rose to say a few words, to grins all around the room from his humorous remarks, Peter briefly wondered if he could talk the actor into slipping into the men’s room for a little “snack”. Just something to take the edge off. He suddenly badly wanted to get his hands and mouth on his lover.

When the audience laughed yet again at his wit, Peter could only think of the things he would like to do to him with hundreds of possible witnesses nearby. The thought curled his toes and kept him occupied until people began to rise from their seats clapping. Peter was forced to retain his seat. His hard-on would be too obvious.

Stiles had concluded his remarks and cameras were going off, lighting up the room as the Congressman shook hands with the actor. People began to move from their seats onto the dance floor that had been set up to the rear of the room. Musicians began to play and guest began to shake a leg.

Peter needed a drink.

His hand had only just closed around the glass, when a hand touched the small of his back. “This colour always did flatter you,” a voice said at his back, and the hope that had flared at the first touch quickly fell away like mist.

“Bas.” He said taking a gulp of the whiskey, turning to face Sebastian Moran. The handsome man smiled at him, dimples on blast. It was a smile that once upon a time would have turned Peter on. Once upon a time.

“You look good, Peter.”

“I heard you were back in town.” As he confessed and soon realised he’d made his first misstep as Sebastian grinned.

“Didn’t know you were keeping tabs, Pete.” Peter opened his mouth to respond, but Sebastian cut him off, “Want to get out of here?”

“Peter,” another voice said off to his right. Peter’s head snapped right and for some odd reason he felt guilt coil in his belly as Stiles’ eyes dropped to where Sebastian’s hand was clutching Peter’s tie. _When had that happen?_

Peter stepped back. “Mr. Stilinski.” Something indecipherable flickered in Stiles’ eyes at Peter’s chosen words of address. “I trust you are enjoying yourself.”

“I was,” Stiles said and held out a hand to the handsome man that had moved closer to Peter, despite the lawyer’s retreat. “I’m Stiles Stilinski.”

“Of course. Everyone knows who you are, Mr. Stilinski. I’m Sebastian Moran. Pete and I are . . . old friends.” The latter was said with more than a little suggestive hint.

Stiles’ glance turned and held Peter’s. “Well, it seems you are at least enjoying _yourself_.”

Sebastian, picking up on a current he had missed before, slowly looked from Peter to Stiles and back again. “My God, so you’re the current one, aren’t you?” The man grinned.

Stiles jerked at Sebastian’s exclamation, and Peter’s jaw clenched. Stiles cursed himself. He’d told himself not to come over here, but he’d been already walking across the room, having spotted Peter finally alone at the bar. All kinds of naughty thoughts about slipping away for a few minutes had slid through his mind and he was already moving when the sandy blond had slid up to Peter. The hand on Peter’s back had Stiles scowling even before he’d reached the two. The hand clutching Peter’s tie by the time he got there left him seeing red. He was the only one allowed to reel Peter in by his tie. _What did this joker think he was doing?_

But soon it became clear the stranger wasn’t one of the nameless ones trying to solicit Peter to take them home. This was someone Peter had previously taken home, and by the familiarity, there had been something considerable between them.

That was what had Stiles drawing his cloak around himself, pushing the actor to the fore. He should have walked away. He really should’ve from the time he’d arrived. Instead he’d introduced himself, needing to know who this man was with a desperation he didn’t understand. So of course he’d given himself away; opened them both to supposition about who Stiles was to Peter, even if it was a correct assumption, from Sebastian Moran. His gaze anxiously bounced to Peter, but the lawyer had already drawn a blank expression across his face.

Sebastian laughed. “Well, who would have thought? You certainly are moving up in the world, Petey dear. How long have you been keeping this one? Three months? Five? Eight?” His slimy scrutiny shifted from Peter to Stiles, “Eight is his limit you know?” He tossed his sandy hair back, drawing a hand through the expensively kept mane, but then he paused, face opened and shocked. “You’ve had him for more than eight?”

Stiles wasn’t sure, but he knew something in his face had given it away. Sebastian whirled on Peter, expression suddenly hurt; hurt quickly turning savage. Sebastian’s teeth bared like a feral animal. His eyes turned from Peter to Stiles, “But has he let you top yet? Took nine months before he’d let me.”

“Sebastian, enough!” Peter’s voice cut sharply through the man’s visible pain and desire to lash out, to hurt, to devastate. But it was too late. Stiles shrunk away, quite unintended, in the face of Peter’s fury and what Sebastian was revealing of his own relationship with Peter.

 _If Peter only kept his flings for eight months and Sebastian had survived past that and had also topped Peter, what did it say about his and Stiles’ relationship?_ Stiles schooled his face. “Sorry to have interrupted. I should be getting back.” Without a further glance at either man, Stiles turned away.

“Stiles,” there was something in Peter’s voice that beckoned him to turn, but he couldn’t. His heart would not allow him; it wouldn’t survive. He needed to compose himself again, away from these two men and whatever they had been hashing out before Stiles stupidly interrupted.

He picked his way back through the crowd, sharing fake smiles and absent words with anyone who stopped him to have a word. But finally he was back near the Congressman and his party, sinking back into discussion, even if his brain did not hear a single thing being said.

He felt like a fool. They’d been clear; from the very start they had been clear about what they were. But no, Stiles had to go and allow himself to want more. _Idiot!_

Stiles shook himself and tried to pay attention to what was being said. A waiter passed by and he abandoned his plan not to have alcohol tonight. He grabbed at a flute like it was his only friend.

++++++

Peter was livid.

He watched Stiles walk away, ducking through the crowd, with a blank face; but it was the expression in his eyes that would haunt Peter tonight. The absolute pain that had shifted there before Stiles had transformed into the perfect actor before his eyes.

He’d known that it was something Stiles did. During their weekend together in the cabin Stiles had told him all about his nervousness about his fame, about how he switched off to be able to do what he did as an actor. About how he kept his two worlds separate, in part to keep those whom he considered friends close, and in part to control his anxiety and insecurity about his own popularity.

He didn’t particularly see himself as that talented. He kept waiting for the other shoe to drop, thinking that everything he had accomplished was like some kind of fad. Soon the masses would get tired and want something new and he’d fade into the fodder like every hot and coming thing that eventually fizzled when the tastes of the fickle public changed.

The actor was who looked at Peter before he turned away. The actor, and not _his_ Stiles. **_His Stiles._** He’d been a fool.

“So has he? Has he fucked you, Peter? Has he?”

“We were finished when you walked away, remember Sebastian? You wanted something else and followed that something else, to where was it, Morroco? You lost the right to ask about my love life when you did; and even before you did. We had an arrangement. One that ended when you left and I have no desire to restart it.”

Sebastian snarled at him, “Right, because that piece of fluff is going to sustain you? That’s what you want now?”

“Yes,” Peter said simply, and with feeling. “He is.”

He turned to walk away, but Sebastian grabbed his arm. “Have you let him top, Peter? Have you?” Sebastian’s voice trembled, water puddled in his eyes, but unlike that day with Stiles in Peter’s office, the sight of a man on the brink of tears before him failed to move him.

“Not that it’s any of your fucking business, Bas, but yes, he has.” Peter dragged his arm from the possessive hold and went searching for the man he’d inadvertently and very mistakenly fallen in love with.

If he’d looked back, which he had no reason to, Peter would have seen Sebastian Moran, image consultant and a man who only ever wished he had been lucky enough to top Peter Hale, dissolve into tears.

++++++

When Peter laid eyes on Stiles Stilinski, his head was thrown back and he was laughing at something the Congressman’s wife said. And the cameras were flashing, getting all the good details. Stiles always photographed well. He’d told Peter he had turned down repeated offers to model. He was too shy for it, he’d said.

Peter thought he was the most beautiful man he’d ever met, especially when he laughed.

Peter considered his chances of getting Stiles alone. He needed to tell him. He needed Stiles to understand that he wasn’t just a fling anymore. In just over six month they would have been together for two years – two years! Sebastian had lasted 10 months, but then he hadn’t been in the same league as Stiles, not even close.

And to lie about being granted the opportunity to top Peter Hale, well that was just bullshit. Stiles was the only one that had been there since before Talia’s death. That was when he’d locked himself away from the world, when he realised how greedy people could become at the prospect of a single man with money. At how they could even try to use his own niece and nephew and the fact that he’d been reeling from the loss of his sister whom he’d loved more than almost anything, and his niece, who’d sometimes called Peter, “pop” rather than “uncle Peter”, to try to hurt him. He’d promised himself then no one would have that kind of access to him again, and no one had. Sebastian had come close. But Stiles, Stiles had shattered . . . everything.

“You ok?” Erica touched a hand to his elbow.

Peter breathed deeply, “Not yet, but I will be.” And marched across the room.

Stiles turned, a smile on his face as Peter drew flush with his little group. His eyebrows drew up in surprise and his eyes briefly scanned beyond Peter’s shoulder. Peter knew whom he was looking for and it annoyed him that Stiles would think there was even a modicum of competition where he was concerned.

When the group fell quiet and still he said nothing, lost in his thoughts, Stiles’ frown deepened. “Peter?”

And then one of the most eligible bachelors in all of Boston, grasped Stiles Stilinski by the cheek and kissed him. An audible gasp went through the crowd, and Stiles went rigid before his body began to respond.

Cameras began to flash around them, catching the most momentous occurrence of the entire evening, and then all but exploded just seconds later, when Boston’s favourite actor responded by pulling Peter Hale closer. The clicks were furious and the reporters present tripping over themselves in excitement at the scene unfolding before them.

Peter pulled back, thumb brushing across Stiles’ cheek, as he whispered for Stiles’ ears only: “He lied. He didn’t . . . it was a lie. Only you, Stiles. Only you.”

Stiles’ eyes glittered and his smile was blinding as he dragged Peter’s mouth back to his. “You do realise you just outed us, right?”

Peter groaned, blew out a breath and dropped his forehead to Stiles’. “Yeah.”

The actor grinned broader, and the cameras captured it all.

**Author's Note:**

> I ended this grinning like a fool - our boys . . . Love to hear your thoughts.


End file.
